And let’s be honest here. I’m no lady and I got thighs like the hock part of the ham and my skirts is too tight but I can damn sure touch my toes and yep you bet the cleavage at my back is in tight competition with the cleavage in my front and oh could I ever give you a wet willie. 

I’m in the grocery store. I’m gliding down the aisle towards the gleam in your hair. That hair’s like a shiny balloon top or something. I want that gin blossom to trace the healthy proportionate bitch curve of my belly. I want a guy who drinks Merlot with a golden shower chaser and if you ain’t him you will be soon. Oh goddamn it I want to bake you a pie so you can smash it in my face concurrent with the climax. A cherry one and oh I’ll show you some cherry. 

Let’s make a ground beef plaster mold of your privates and make your beefdick enter a couple Butterballs. Hand me over some raw fish or alligator tail or turkey necks and I’ll hang them from these tits like the tassels your mama had nightmares about. I want to help you out. I want to scare you shitless. I want to show you the way around a t-bone and a ladydick and that erogenous part between the toes. 

I can hold a lemon in seven different places on my body. I’m serious as the heart attack I want to give you. I’m gonna put you in the babyseat and crash the cart at the dirty feminine aids aisle. I’ll figure-eight your ass from the donuts to them slivered salad almonds and if you’re any good you can use the time to pat these boob pillows, make you somewhere nice to lay your head.

I’m going to deliver your birthday cake out my womb. It’s a marble with buttercream frosting and its name is Anything Goes. Smack my ass to make sure it’s breathing and I’ll smoke you a cigar from my lady parts in celebration. Blow you some smoke rings, lasso you in. 

I want a guy who parts his hair on the left. I want a guy who’ll lick my throat area. I want a guy who’ll finger my back cleavage. I want a guy who owns tools. I want a guy who collects ratshit. I want a guy don’t like to read. I want a guy who’ll slash my tires. I want a guy who hates a pinky in his ass.

I got ripples of fat for you to skip your gonads on. I got a forehead for teabagging. I want you to sandpaper me a rough spot on the insides of my thighs with your dumbass unshaven cheeks. I want to trim your nose hair with my incisors. Make me a pendant from your earwax. Hold you in front of the fridgedoor till your willer shrivels to a peanut. 

I’m in your line. There’s no undies under these skirts and there never will be. You dribble some sausageblood, I’ll bend to wipe it. You want a closer look you’ll have to ask and I’ll have to squat. Take my order. I want a pound of fuckmeat and some fattypart skewers. I’ll shish kabob your loins and there ain’t gonna be any leftovers. 

I’m pretty cause I say so. You got shit for brains but that’s the way I like it. Long as you been around the ass block and you drink your coffee black. I’ll be in the parking lot marking my territory up against your truck tires, pulling my shirt up and playing fried eggs against your windows. Bring me out a cow’s tongue and a duck’s liver and say yes or don’t say anything, because you and your plasticlooking hair and your tiny lady nipples are mine and you ain’t got no choice in the matter and anyway I’m driving.
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